


14

by yours_eternally



Series: Feb-u-whump 2021 [15]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Gun Violence, Hostage Situations, Knifeplay, M/M, On the Run, References to The Most Dangerous Game, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘I caught you, huh?’ he says, voice low, whiskery cheek against Jim’s. Jim doesn’t answer. His body is starting to go numb from his extremities. He’s burnt through all his initial adrenaline and now he’s so beyond panic his mind is empty, thoughts sluggishly moving across the surface.Jim's lost in the woods and being pursued by a man with a knife.
Relationships: Jim Root/Mick Thomson
Series: Feb-u-whump 2021 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137497
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: febuwhump 2021, yours_eternally's Febuwhump 2021 Collection





	14

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt is "Run. Don't look back"

Jim blinks in the light as the bag is dragged off his head. He stumbles, his hands are still zip-tied behind his back. Jim pants, looking around him. He feels like he hasn’t been able to take a full breath in through the stinking cloth of the bag in hours. 

Jim looks to his left and to his right trying to work out what the hell is going on. All he knows currently is someone had jumped him on the way back to his car and he’d woken up in a moving van, bound and blindfolded. 

There’s another person on either side of him. They’re in a loose line of about 10 or 12. All about his age, and looking about as shocked as he feels. They’re standing in the mud, on the edge of a wooden area Jim doesn’t recognise, with the headlight from a line of trunks shining directly at them. Jim counts four pairs, though he doesn’t know what that means. 

It’s night, and cold enough for Jim’s breath to billow before him in a white cloud. Jim flinches as someone catches his forearm but stops struggling when he turns, spotting the guy is cutting ties around his wrists. The guy is as tall as him, black-haired and bearded. And the knife he’s using to cut Jim loose is as long as his forearm and serrated all along one edge. 

Jim rubs his wrists as the guy moves away, moving down the line. When everyone’s hands are free the guy returns to the group that’s stood with their backs to the headlights. There are five figures Jim can make out, though it makes his eyes sting. As Jim watches one of them steps forward. He can’t really tell much about them other than it’s not the guy who released his hands. And that they’re holding a shotgun. 

‘Okay, you got an hour,’ he says, he has an accent but not one Jim recognises, ‘—town’s that way. Get going.’ They indicate north with the shotgun and Jim feels like the cold has seeped into his bones. That doesn’t sound good. 

‘What the fuck?’ says the guy on the left of Jim. He looks pale and his expression is hard, jaw taut. Jim looks from him back to the guy with the gun. 

‘I said,’ the guy fires a warning shot, ‘— _get going_.’ Jim flinches back, along with everyone else. And then someone on the end of the line takes off running. It’s like a wildfire has started in Jim’s veins as he starts running too. He tears away, running through the trees, stumbling and skidding down the bank behind it. There’s a river, but it’s not deep. 

When Jim stops moving it’s to collapse against the trunk of a thick tree. He winded and exhausted, sweating through his jacket. He stops to wipe the sweat from his hairline, other hand going to clutch at the stitch in his ribs. He’d lost the others. He’s not sure yet if that’s a good thing or not. Jim’s just trying to work out how long it is until dawn when he hears a branch crack behind him. 

He whips around, stumbling back with a yelp as he sees a figure much closer than he's expecting. Jim feels his foot slipping on something hard, and then he’s going down, landing awkwardly on his wrist and knocking any remaining air out of his lungs. He hears a low chuckle. 

A pair of large hands grab him. Jim tries to struggle as he’s dragged up and his back set against the rough bark of the tree. Jim feels something wet against his throat and stills. Before realising it’s not wet but cold; the icy blade of a knife is as long as his forearm. Jim feels the serration catching on the skin of his throat just slightly and knows he’s going to die. 

He doesn't speak. He’s shaking too hard to talk. Besides he doesn’t want to give this motherfucker the satisfaction of hearing him beg. Jim grunts as the guy presses into him more, hot breath on his face. 

‘I caught you, huh?’ he says, voice low, whiskery cheek against Jim’s. Jim doesn’t answer. His body is starting to go numb from his extremities. He’s burnt through all his initial adrenaline and now he’s so beyond panic his mind is empty, thoughts sluggishly moving across the surface. 

‘Y’know you’re lucky,’ the guy says, ‘—I like my prey live an’ kicking.’ Jim feels prickling with fear; what the fuck did _that_ mean? Without saying anything else the guy manhandles Jim around so he’s pressed chest to the tree, trapped by the other’s body. He can still feel the knife under his jaw so he doesn’t dare do anything with his hands but let them hang. 

‘Move and I’ll slit your fucking throat, man,’ the guy says. Jim grunts his understanding. He feels a hand on the waistband of his jeans and then the guy’s hand is pulling open his button fly. 

‘What’re you—’ he says, trying to twist. But stills, feeling a line of fire at his throat and remembering the knife. The guy shushes him and Jim can feel him pulling at his clothes until his jeans and underwear are around his thighs. He can feel the cold air on his skin, shudders from it. The guy shushes him again, leaning into him. Jim feels his free hand on his face. 

‘C’mon suck ‘em,’ the guy says and Jim feels him push his fingers into his mouth. Jim grunts around them, jaw stretching painfully. They taste earthy and metallic, and he can feel the guy’s callouses as he rubs the digits against his tongue. 

After a moment he pulls them out and Jim feels the hand between their bodies, moving down to circle his hole. He grunts, clenching his jaw. His senses are on fire, reawakened by the renewed fear of the guy. And what he’s about to do. Jim feels his stomach clench as he feels the guy thumb his cock into his spit-slick hole. Jim’s body burns from the stretch and he lets out a low whine. 

‘Please—’ Jim says, voice tight, in spite of himself, in spite of knowing it’s useless. 

‘I’m not gonna hurt you,’ the guy says, huffing against his cheek. Jim wants to scream, wants to shout, but at the same time he can barely draw a breath he’s so tense. He can feel his body stretching, pulling taut, opening as the guy pushes deeper until he’s flush up against Jim. Jim can feel the bark scratching his cheek.

The guy’s started to move now, starting to thrust into Jim’s body. The acuteness of the pain has softened enough for Jim to pant in a breath. He tries to breathe evenly, promising himself he’s going to run the second he hasn’t got a knife pricking the skin of his throat. He digs his nails into the bark of the tree, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Trying not to be aware of anything other than the texture of the bark under his fingertips. 

He can feel the guy, body hot against his back, cock hot inside Jim’s hole. Jim can feel tracks of fire that are somehow both pain and pleasure running down his inner thighs. The guy’s exhales are hot on the back of his neck and Jim’s half-hard from being fucked. His body responding to the sensation, apparently regardless of the context. 

The guy gives a heavy grunt and Jim feels him go rigid. He’s pressing heavily against Jim’s back. Then he pulls back and out, and Jim can feel his come dripping from his hole. It stings. Jim has to bite back a wince. 

It takes Jim a moment to realise the guy has completely stepped away from him, meaning the knife is gone too. But when he does Jim fumbles his jeans back up, turning and stumbling, looking for the guy. He stood a little way from him, face lit up by the cherry on his cigarette. Jim stills, staring at him instead of running like he’d promised himself. 

‘Go on,’ the guy says, when he spots Jim looking at him. ‘—keep going that way and keep quiet.’ He points over Jim’s shoulder and Jim turns to look. He glances back at the guy once more before taking a couple of steps backward to keep him in sight before turning tail and running as fast as he can. 

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Jim.. _again_ 😅
> 
> [yours-eternally-ao3](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yours-eternally-ao3) on tumblr


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